


A Fox Owner’s Guide to Counting Sheep

by jasminetea



Category: Machineries of Empire Series - Yoon Ha Lee
Genre: Cheris deserves good things, Cheris is the best life decision he’s made, Dom/sub Undertones, F/M, Femdom, Jedao gets laid and it’s not a disaster, Light Dom/sub, Light Service Kink, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Canon, Psychic Bond, Service Top, Sharing a Bed, Sub Jedao, Uniform Kink, Vaginal Fingering, like an obedient Jedao and orgasms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-17
Updated: 2020-10-17
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:28:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27056440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jasminetea/pseuds/jasminetea
Summary: What's a little sex when they’d made history twice and are on their way to doing it a third time?  Especially when a good night’s rest is on the line?Or: With only one bed, and desperately wanting some rest, Cheris puts Jedao to sleep with an orgasm.
Relationships: Ajewen Cheris/Garach Jedao Shkan
Comments: 7
Kudos: 11
Collections: Start Reading





	A Fox Owner’s Guide to Counting Sheep

**Author's Note:**

> Machineries of Empire was one of my fave reads of 2019, and remembering “Glass Cannon” exists has been one of the small things that puts a much-needed smile on my face during 2020. So, I’m excited to share this! Comments are always appreciated. <3
> 
> Credit:  
> 
> 
> * While I didn’t participate in Yuletide 2019, I did look at the prompts! This fic is a result of [Cher](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cher/) (uniform kink, with service kink undertones; sorry I couldn’t work in the masochism!) and [Taywen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/taywen) (there’s only one bed, with a side of psychic bond)’s prompts.  
> 
> * I didn’t realize until after the skeleton of this was done, but this fic takes a lot of cues from the “Gloves” short story.  
> 
> * Music: Doja Cat’s [Streets](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0hD-Z1q_ZyI).  
> 
> * Thanks to [definitelynotregan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/definitelynotregan/) for editing.

Cheris hasn’t worn a Kel uniform in years, but the fashion hasn’t changed much. She supposes she shouldn’t be surprised. The key difference is that the damn boots are pull-ons now. She isn’t sure what Nirai idiot decided boots shouldn’t have laces or zippers. At least the gloves are exactly as she remembers. She’d finally gotten used to going gloveless on Esrala, even relearned to fly the needlemoth without them. Still, she can’t deny there’s a thrill at wearing gloves again. She also knows Jedao’s memories are well and truly out of her when she doesn’t wish they were fingerless..

But the pang of longing, that is _not_ hers.

Turning, hand still tugging at the glove, she finds Jedao lurking in her doorway.

“Aren’t you sick of watching my private moments?” she says, in her best approximation of his drawl.

A look passes across his face, and she would have once known its meaning intuitively. A pulse of that longing comes through the bond again. It’s something more than, or different than, nostalgia.

She pushes harder. “Are you going to tell me what you want, or are you going to brood about it?”

He swallows. “It’s a good look on you.”

Some of Jedao Two must still be in there. The Jedao she’d anchored would have laughed and made a game out of concealing his thoughts.

“It’d better. If these don’t look real, this mission is going to be difficult. You ready to be useful and find out where they’re holding the gate-charged batteries?”

“Of course I am,” he scoffs.

He sounds too eager, so she adds, “Please don’t do anything stupid.”

It would be nice to go on one, just _one_ mission with Jedao that didn’t go sideways. Last time, it’d taken weeks for the iridescent dye to fade from her skin. Jedao had laughed every time he looked at her, saying she looked like a green cow.

“You got it, Cheris-zho.”

She rolls her eyes.

Servitor 1491625 does the same, a remarkable feat given its lack of eyeballs. “We should’ve launched him into the sun we had the chance,” it says.

Cheris merely shakes her head. “1491625, you made the hotel reservation for tonight?”

“Yes, under the name Bashir Sanaa. The _Harmony_ and I will be waiting to pick you up in the morning.”

“Alright, let’s go.”

* * *

To Cheris’ shock, the mission goes right-side up, no shooting or feats of calendrical mathematics required. She’s as relieved as she is surprised; relearning to fight solo is worse than when she anchored Jedao’s ghost. Some of his fight prowess lingers in her muscle memory, and some of it doesn’t. While the Nirai would have a field-day about their bond, it makes planning missions a pain in the ass.

Tomorrow, when 1491625 picks them up, they’ll head to Hestiad-2 where the smuggled batteries are stowed. Hopefully, the batteries will be enough to buy them some goodwill with the _Unbridled_.

According to the _Coral Whale_ _,_ who Cheris and Jedao had bribed with ocean documentaries, the _Unbridled_ would be more sympathetic to their work if they came bearing gifts. Or so Jedao had hinted; Cheris suspects he deliberately didn’t relay everything the _Coral Whale_ had said.

But that’s a problem for later. Right now, Cheris is happy to complete a low-drama mission. Any day with minimal viscera and weird Kujen shit is a good day. Her buzz lasts right up until she opens their hotel room and looks inside.

There’s only one bed.

Formation instinct or not, old habits die hard. Kel never share beds – all the better to discourage hawkfucking, or at the very least make it as uncomfortable as possible (not that it ever stopped anyone). Between her and Jedao, they have enough nightmares to easily kill one another in their sleep for twitching the wrong way. Which she’ll likely do if he snores. No one ever recorded whether he did. Probably because it’d detract from the menacing myth.

{I don’t snore, Cheris.} Out loud, Jedao says, “At least it’s an Emperor sized bed.” He flops onto the large monstrosity, bouncing impressively. The bed must be incredibly durable and springy if it can bounce whatever lines his bones.

When she doesn’t join him, he needles her. “You’re not thinking of sleeping on the floor are you? Neither of us are young enough to do that anymore.”

Her hip aches just thinking of it. She reluctantly sits down on the bed and removes her gloves to feel the sheets. Evil hexarchs, it’s _soft._ It must be Sacadian in origin; not many planets bother making their own textiles anymore.

She lies down and rubs her face against the diamond-patterned duvet. “I’m asking 1491625 to set us up in boutique hotels from now on. I bet even their toiletries are expensive.”

“No one’s going to search for us in a nice place like this,” Jedao notes. “We’re fugitives. People’ll assume we’re slumming it to make our money last.”

“I suppose I never did tell anyone I took those funds from Kujen’s hideouts.” Cheris gazes up at the deep blue walls. Kujen’s fortresses were always maddeningly booby-trapped. While Cheris enjoys math puzzles, she doesn’t enjoy them when her slow and painful death is on the line. On the bright side, Kujen did secret away a lot of untraceable money and valuables behind those traps.

“This bed really is soft,” Jedao sighs.

What, Kujen didn’t always spring for the finest upholstery?

She doesn’t meant to project that thought, but Jedao tenses beside her. The bond is a pain sometimes, no matter how handy it is on missions. “Think we can find out who made it and get a pallet-sized one for the _Harmony_?” she asks as a peace offering.

He yawns. “We’d have to get out of the bed to do that…”

“Yeah.” She echoes his yawn. She can feel the sheets and mattress luring her into sleep, even with the lights on.

What a life. When all of this is done, she’ll have some drinking tale: “One time, I slept in the same bed as Shuos Jedao _and_ survived!”

But right as she’s about to drift into sleep, Jedao’s thoughts needle her. She does her best to ignore them, pushes the annoying jumble to the background of her mind like a group of rowdy drinking Shuos. But every time she’s about to fall asleep, his thoughts prick her awake like fox teeth.

She rolls over to face him. The bed is large enough that there’s space between two of them, but right now, it doesn’t feel like enough. “Are you going to sleep or what?”

His shoulders tighten. “I’m _trying,”_ he grits out. “I’ll try to be even stiller. Maybe I can just stop breathing.”

“Good idea. You can count some sheep, or whatever other animals farm boys count too,” Cheris says.

“What?” he throws himself onto his other side to face her. “Are you shitting me?”

“No, Jedao, you don’t need to breathe, and no, I am not shitting you.”

She can feel the moment he stops breathing. The thoughts stop poking at her while he concentrates, and she’s almost asleep when he suddenly inhales.

“I suppose I’m still getting used to this… body,” he admits.

She wants to tell him this can’t be the weirdest thing he’s experienced given all his years with Kujen, but she supposes she doesn’t have to. The thought echoes to him, and his face puckers.

“Going to sleep has been hard without the physical cues,” he says. “I don’t feel hunger or fatigue the same way anymore.”

She can’t help but think of Esrala, blood everywhere, and the pungent smell of the ration bars she’d fed Jedao.

“Cheris, that is _not_ helping me sleep.”

“Sorry, hard to not think. It’s like the proverbial pink cat.”

What in the world could put him to sleep? If he doesn’t feel bodily needs except after being used and abused (which she is not going to do, because she’s too tired to find someone he can get butchered by and food is too valuable to use healing him)... will masturbation still do the trick?

{Huh, haven’t tried that.}

“Seriously? I thought one of the first things you’d do is make sure it was still operational.” If he uses it to pee, surely he’d be curious if it was still a pleasure organ? Unless, his body doesn’t eliminate waste anymore?

“I’ve been otherwise occupied,” he states flatly. He mercifully does not comment on the state of his bowels.

{I tried, once, and I got so off track, the memories of a half-familiar man and the guilt were so overwhelming, I gave up. At least, I still know I –} And then the thought skips like a radio to a new channel, {You, striking in the purloined Kel uniform, even if it wasn’t the style I first loved. It still had all the sharpness, the soft tassels, the sense of careful control that contrasted so beautifully with the messiness of sex. Hound and fox, I wanted to lay all the bullshit down and _rest_ –}

“You’re...” she bites off the word, knowing those thoughts weren’t meant for her.

“You can say it you know,” he exhales, “I know you’re thinking it.”

Cheris’ compunctions about hawkfucking are mostly habit. She never wanted to be called a suicide hawk for that reason. But she also very much wants to go to sleep, and once the _Harmony_ picks them up, they won’t have much chance for sleep for another week.

Really, what’s a little sex when they’ve made history twice over and are on their way to doing it a third time? Especially when a good night’s rest is on the line?

But first, there are some things they need to talk about. While they’ve been together all these years in a multiplicity of ways, Cheris is not going to fuck up future nights’ sleep up just for this one, no matter if it’s how Jedao usually does things.

“Are you fertile in this body?” she asks bluntly.

{Fucking foxes, could Kujen have been that devious? I always wanted children, but what the fuck would the kids be? Half moth? Fed on a diet of rice and human flesh?}

The idea is indeed worrisome but in no way helpful to their current dilemma. Cheris can tell she’s going to have to take the helm of this ship. “Okay, so your penis… You still have a penis right?”

“Yes, Cheris, I still have one.” He rolls his eyes.

“...so your penis is not going into my vagina.”

Not until they figure out if he can sire a kid. She still has the standard issue Kel implant, as boosted by Mikodez before she went to Esrala, but she won’t underestimate whatever Kujen could’ve done to Jedao’s… seed, or whatever floats around his body. Hell, she’d prefer not have his dick anywhere in her; maybe hexarchs found bizarre manners of impregnation hilarious.

“I assure you, getting my dick wet is not the crux of my sexuality.”

“I’m aware,” she replies dryly. “I know you like being hurt, but I can’t do that for you right now.” The issue isn’t the pain, but the lingering specters of what exactly had happened between Jedao Two and General Dhanneth and the smell of Cheris searing Jedao Two’s flesh on Avros Base.

“I’ll take whatever you give me Cheris. It doesn’t have to all be deathly serious.”

She can’t tell if he’s joking or not. {Alright then,} she replies. Sitting up, she says aloud, “You aren’t a general in this room, Jedao.” Using subvocals, she directs her uniform to change rank. “Give me your gloves.”

Jedao’s eyes sharpen with interest. “General,” he says cautiously. He leaves off the Brevit. How kind of him. He removes his gloves and places them in her outstretched hand.

Tossing her own gloves aside, she dons his, lightly pressing the wrists so they adjust to fit her. “Let’s have a look at you,” she states.

She takes a slow look at him from his feet up. He sits up straight for her inspection and she skates her hands up his chest, examining the counterfeit uniform. From its engraved buttons to gold epaulets, it looks like the real thing. Then, tapping her thumb below his bottom lip, he opens his mouth. She inspects his teeth, running her fingertips against his gums. He licks at her fingers, nibbles the fabric.

“You’ll do,” she confirms. Something in him eases at her approval, and she wonders how much of him she can unpeel, a puzzle all her own.

Pulling her hand away, she moves up the bed and adjusts the pillows so they’re between her and the headboard. Unbuttoning her pants, she slips a hand inside of them. She merely presses against herself at first, enjoying the heat and pressure, then she begins tracing the Mwen-dal alphabet against her clit. After living on Esrala, she’s regained some of her fluency, but she can’t remember what comes after _egrich_ , so she switches to prime numbers.

Unexpectedly, she remembers the servitor who helped teach her math on the seashore, and then the smell of the sea in the City of Ravens Feasting. Even though she’s made her choices, she imagines she can go back. A small cry escapes her lips.

Jedao’s inches closer to her, his careful attention on her face. Has he picked up on her distraction? When their gazes catch, he bites the button across her chest, raising an eyebrow in question. She nods, and he makes quick work of removing her jacket. Then he slides his hands beneath her undershirt, calloused hands moving up her waist in a rough caress.

“Suck my breasts,” she orders, wanting to chase away the homesickness with his body.

His face is a mixture of relief and anticipation. Pushing the shirt up and her compression bra down, he frames her breasts and takes a long look at them. “I did miss this,” he sighs and lowers his mouth.

He kisses his way around one breast, kneading the other. Then he takes as much as he can into his mouth. She yelps, feet kicking. Glancing up to gauge her reaction, he happily resumes when she pushes his head back down. His tongue drags along the underside of one breast, then winds its way to the other.

Her cunt throbs, and she maneuvers her gloved fingers beneath her underwear, stroking wet flesh. His mouth parts, longing to watch her without the clothes, and she’s tempted to kiss him.

{You can, you can,} he urges through the bond.

It’s her turn to raise an eyebrow. “Ask,” she orders.

{Kiss me,} he thinks, but instead says, “Use me.”

“Earn it then. Jerk yourself off and give me a good show.”

Sitting back on his heels, he looks at his hands for a moment. The poor man hasn’t gotten laid in who knows how long. He probably has performance anxiety.

Leaning down, she tucks an errant bang behind his ear.

“You won’t disappoint me.” On subvocals, she adds, “Kel Command already did that.”

He laughs at that, just as she hoped. He takes himself out, and Cheris has never been so relieved to see a penis in her life. For all the tinkering Kujen had done to Jedao’s body, it looks the same as the others she’s seen: fleshy, and a bit like the photos of old earthworms. Reaching into his pants, she takes his balls out. They’re also blessedly as expected, dangly and squishy and covered in soft hair. She nudges his zipper up a bit and he groans as it bites into his skin.

She tosses her own gloves to him. “Now you’re ready to give me a show.”

As he puts them on, his cock twitches. The gloves do it for him, especially now that they’re wearing one another’s – an intimate act that, depending on context, runs the gamut from taboo to sacred. Reaching down, he cups his balls in one hand while stroking his length with the other. To her delight, he leaves the zipper cutting into him, and with each stroke, the flushed head of his cock grows wet with precum.

The bond between them throbs, a rising tide of pressure between her hips and thighs. She squirms, teasing herself by rubbing her clit and then dipping into her entrance.

“Our gloves are going to be filthy after this,” she murmurs.

A loud moan escapes his lips. His touch grows quicker, erratic and she knows he’s getting close. Freeing her hands, she taps her thigh. “Alright, enough. Come up here.” She’s going to make sure this orgasm rocks him right to sleep.

He scrambles up eagerly. Pressing his hands on her thighs, he tips his head up and waits for his kiss.

Cheris devours his mouth, the corner of it her appetizer, the slide of teeth and tongue her meal, and his hungry gasps for more her dessert. When she pulls back, his head lolls, and she catches his face in her palms. He turns into her hands, breath cool against her wet fingers.

A whine humming in the back of his throat, his hand moves from the muscle of her thigh to the crease of her hip. He works his thumb against the flesh and whispers, “I can smell you on the gloves, and I want to know…”

He sinks down, face dipping lower. He noses at the fly of her pants, teeth delicately grasping the zipper and pulling it down. The sound is louder than it should be. He’s thinking of salt and slippery flesh, getting messy, watching her find her pleasure against his face. She wants this too and helps him get rid of her pants and underwear.

He settles himself between her legs, and once her legs are over his shoulders, gets to work. She expects ferocity after his involuntary abstinence, but he’s oddly gentle. He takes his time, acquainting himself with keen focus on every way to make her twitch or sigh. She could come this way, with languorous patience, but she really wants to sleep – and soon.

So in true Kel fashion, she takes decisive action. She grabs a fistful of hair and pulls him up. His face is wet with her, his eyes half-lidded. Good.

“I don’t have all night, gosling.” She feels a warm flare of relief and satisfaction, like slipping into a hot bath at the end of the day. “Pick up the pace. How quickly can you make me come?”

With the order given, Jedao proceeds to eat her with the gusto and hunger she expects. To call him enthusiastic is an understatement. With each little satisfied noise he makes, she pulls him in closer. It’s not long before she’s riding his face. Thank goodness he doesn’t need to breathe. Her thighs clench and at first she thinks it’s from her clit pulsing with heavy longing, but she realizes it’s bleedthrough as Jedao pumps his hips against the bed.

“You’re desperate for it, aren’t you?” she pants, “You could come all over your pants just from this.”

The answering riptide of arousal from the bond has her writhing against the duvet. Gripping her hips, he presses his mouth against her body harder, his moans rumbling through her. She whispers words of encouragement, wondering how loud he could be if she gave him a safe space to be everything he was – nothing hidden, everything open and willing. Forcing him to be honest and present and not thinking nine moves ahead... it might just crack open his soft insides.

The thought slips away as he tugs on her clit with his teeth, and his fingers crook against the front of her passage. His hands are bigger than she’s used to, and she gushes obscenely around his fingers.

Hot from both ends of their bond, their arousal burns higher and more quickly than it should. Her hips buck against his fingers, and he presses his face into her thigh, breathing, {I’m your gun, I’m your gun} like a fervent prayer.

Fierce triumph surges through her. She’d wondered if he only said it before to yank Mikodez’s chain. But now she knows he’s _hers_ , lock, stock, and barrel. She’d done what he tried for centuries, and he had been Kel by choice after all, and he would serve her anyway she wanted.

Jedao gives a strangled cry, one hand gripping tightly at her waist, the other reaching for a spot deep inside her.

The swell of sensation between her hips crests and then pleasure blurs between them – pressure, heat, slickness, a meld of sensations and body parts. And then orgasm takes her, sweeping her into the sea, where pleasure washes over her in wave after wave. She brings him along with her, like the two moons of Bonepyre calling in the tide. Her fingers scramble at his collar, pulling it tight against his throat, and he comes with a shout, and she can’t tell if the rush of fluid she experiences is hers or his.

She eases her hand off of him, and he clambers up until he’s half sprawled on her. He squeezes her hand in both of his as they catch their breath.

They’ve always worked well together. She supposes it’s unsurprising that extends to sex too. He nuzzles the side of her breast. She gently strokes his damp hair back.

“Wow,” Jedao says out loud.

“Wow,” Cheris echoes.

* * *

To her surprise, he insists she enjoy the afterglow while he fetches a hot, wet towel for her. She tries to get him to change his clothes first, but he ruefully shakes his head.

“Let me clean you up first,” he states, “My pants are already ruined.” Kel uniforms wash blood out well, but other, lighter bodily fluids are harder to get out. Yet another way to deter fraternization and sloppy eating habits. So Cheris concedes and stretches out under his light touch as he cleans her up.

While he finally goes to the bathroom to scrub what he can off his uniform, Cheris rolls over to the other, dry side of the comforter. Once he’s done, they switch. When she returns from the bathroom, he’s put her uniform away, with neat creases and tucked corners, and laid out civilian clothes in case a quick getaway is needed.

While she admires his tidy work, he asks, “I know we’re done, but do you mind if I help you get ready for bed?”

She blinks at him. She doesn’t need his help brushing her teeth.

He laughs. “Your pajamas, Cheris.”

Cheris’ nightwear of choice is a thick-knit flannel, but it’s too bulky to pack for missions. She’ll make do with her compression bra, her undershirt, and her quick-drying underwear – wherever those might be.

She frowns at her undershirt. While the jacket and pants of the Kel uniform are good quality, the undershirt’s cheap and stretched out funny. She reaches for the hem, resigned to sleep without it. His hand goes over hers and then his other waves a soft-looking orange shirt at her. “Cheris, you need to enjoy creature comforts when you can,” he states.

She’s not going to say no after he alluded to the black cradle like that, so she acquiesces. He takes the misshapen shirt off, makes sure her bra’s not twisted up, and then presses a kiss to each of her breasts before pulling the shirt over her. It’s even softer than it looked. She sniffs it, and foxfire, the thing even smells nice and not like recycled soap and water.

“Your underwear’s still damp. Do you want to put them back on?” he inquires.

 _What service,_ she thinks. “No, the shirt’s large enough to avoid flashing anyone. You know, this was supposed to be for you, but I think I came out the winner between the two of us.”

He winks and then disrobes for bed. His scars surprise her; she still has the vague memories of receiving them, but she’s never _seen_ them, oddly enough. While she ponders this, he puts the remainder of her discarded clothing away along with his uniform. “You never know when we might use these again,” he teases.

Cheris ignores his quip and gets under the covers and shivers with delight; the bed is self-warming.

Once he’s down to his boxers, he asks, “Do you want me with underwear or without?” Contrary to the Kel legend that he sleeps in just his half-gloves, Jedao sleeps naked. Unlike Cheris, who likes to be able to flee from unexpected enemies while clothed, Jedao has no compunctions about going into battle with his ass out. Apparently running with his dick flopping about is a non-issue.

While she’d prefer he wear clothes, a glance at his underwear shows wet spots. “Without, please.” He grins and tosses them into his pack. She sighs and pulls the sheets back on his side. “C’mon, Jedao.”

He climbs into bed, pulling in close to her. Is he… a cuddler? She tries to wrap her mind around the terror of Hellspin Fortress being a snuggler, but she supposes even myths are human after all.

As he inches closer to her, she says, “Please don’t tell me sex doesn’t tire your new body out.”

“No, I feel relaxed enough to sleep now.”

“Good.”

She tentatively places her hand on his hip, worrying her thumb against the jut of bone the way she would a luckstone. There’s a jumble of thoughts and senses through the bond, and to her surprise, a small aftershock of orgasm runs through her.

He squeezes her hand, and the message coheres a bit more. He’s wondering about the bond and bleedthrough. If they can share panic and fear, why not kinder things like pleasure? This has potential, he thinks.

“Too tired, Jedao. Next time.”

“Next time,” he agrees, softly, as if he’s unsure.

When Cheris turns the lamp off, light still leaks out from the bathroom door. He must’ve turned it back on. She wonders if it’s his version of a nightlight, if the black cradle made darkness a place of little safety. Or maybe the light helps him feel less lonely.

The bond murmurs to her like the sea. Something about service and devotion, and that sounds a lot like being Kel or a Hexarch or caring, and she doesn’t want to dwell on any of that. (If he can still think this much, she’ll have to do better wearing him out next time. Maybe she can find a suitably snaky game to spice things up. If she wants to be truly devious, she’ll make it math-based so he’ll struggle.)

“What is it you mean to say, Jedao?” she mumbles.

“Thanks,” he says, and she’s never heard his drawl like this, “Cheris-zho.”

When he says it like that, she wonders if the antiquated suffix is short-hand for _I’m your gun_. She shivers.

Rolling him onto his side, she spoons him. He stiffens, and then relaxes. Really, after all that, _this_ is what makes him melt into a puddle?

“Show your appreciation for your tyrant-ruler by _going to sleep_.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he says.

And, within minutes, they do.

**Author's Note:**

> 1491625 takes one look at the two of them and turns an exasperated cerulean. “I don’t know why I bother with you suicide hawks,” it says. And then, “Ugh, I am not explaining fleshy relationships to the Harmony.”
> 
> Some additional thoughts about this ‘verse:  
> 
> 
> * Because I am a sap, Cheris helps corral Jedao’s deviousness in less destructive ways, and they both manage to be happy. And, y’know, support moth independence and avert interstellar war.  
> 
> * The first time Jedao kneels for Cheris, he does it to troll Mikodez. Things escalate from there  
> 
> * Playing with his uniform kink helps Jedao work through Khiaz’s abuse of it.  
> 
> * Cheris and Jedao do sleep with other people, but come back to each other.  
> 
> * Also Jedao flexes his dick, Cheris is like “wtf,” and Jedao is like “of all the weirdness, this is what you focus on??” and he then proceeds to troll her with it.  
> 
> * In retaliation, Cheris calls him a gosling, and 1491625 is aghast she has a petname for him. The Harmony, though, is pleased its cousin has companionship and is being socialized.


End file.
